Optical Illusions
by mamadillo
Summary: Lighter fare - JO/WM married only a few months - A missing children case results in an injury; a suspicious death occurs in the same neighborhood; and misunderstandings abound. (Red Herrings) Just goes to show - not all romance is steamy, but neither is the reverse true (poor Henry). New to this, so pardon any clumsiness on my part, but reviews and helpful suggestions are welcome.
1. Chapter 1 - Stormy Weather

"Missing children, you say? I can check on it, sir, before I head home," offered the detective. Everyone knew his soft spot for children despite his overly formal appearance.

''All right then. Doesn't sound too serious. Back here tomorrow, you can tell me what you've found. Higgins … go along, just in case there's more to it," the inspector added almost as an afterthought.

oOoOo

"Henry, I shall go ahead on my bicycle." Looking up at the sky, Murdoch grabbed two rain slickers, threw one to the constable and added, "You might bring the carriage or I can give you fare for a cab; it looks like this weather could get rough. We won't want to get caught in the storms. Will you join Julia and me at the hotel for dinner afterward?"

"Thank you for both offers, Sir, but I do have plans after we finish tonight," replied the garrulous constable. "I'll hitch Aurelius and be along presently."

As the detective glided along the streets and around corners, winds picked up, and a cold rain started to fall heavily. He picked up speed when the skies began to shake with thunder.

Higgins pulled up and left the police carriage at the corner post, joining Murdoch at the outside stairway to reach the second floor apartment between the third floor photography studio and ground floor shop. The rain had tapered, but the two men stood sopping as they identified themselves. Murdoch entered, removing his slicker and hung it on one of the pegs by the door next to a jacket and a floral shawl. He wanted to avoid dripping all through the place during his investigation. Higgins stayed on the covered landing just outside the open door.

Worried parents Michel and Annette Colbert reported that their two young sons, ages 7 and 8, had been sent upstairs to clean their father's workshop shortly after lunch and had not been heard from since that time. Yes, they were usually reliable and wandered off rarely but never during such stormy weather. No, they seemed to have several good friends among the other children on the lane and often went to the nearby park together once chores were completed, but the parents, relatively new to the neighborhood, were uncertain of the friends' names.

During the conversation, Murdoch noticed Monsieur's accent and Madame's discomfort and decided to try French for the next question. The Colbert's seemed to relax slightly. "Have you asked neighbors along the street to see if the boys were playing in some friends' home and stayed when the rain began to fall?"

"Honestly, the boys have not been so late before so we had not thought to ask. Also it seems so difficult to understand the English and to endure the suspicions of the neighbors who do not understand us."

Murdoch signaled Higgins to check only the closest homes for the time being. As the constable departed, the detective asked to see the boys' belongings and was pleasantly surprised by the neatness, with the exception of a two foot long toy chest into which favorite belongings seemed piled indiscriminately. He noticed a book by Robert Louis Stephenson thrown in haphazardly and then took a moment to study a few drawings scattered across a small table. Again in French, he asked the parents if anything appeared to be missing, but they could think of nothing at the moment, other than the boys' caps.

Finally, the detective asked to see the workrooms and shop, and Mr. Colbert led him to an interior back stairway which connected the floors and led the way upward. The storm had quieted somewhat, but lightning still flashed with decreasing frequency, intermittently illuminating the studio and indicating the darkroom and storage cupboards. The two men glanced around the room, and Murdoch stepped toward a broom and dustpan curiously left on the floor near the camera on its tripod. As he stooped to extend a finger into the dustpan, an extraordinarily bright flash accompanied by immediate thunder lit the room startling him into jostling the heavy apparatus. He barely had time to register Mr. Colbert's cry as Murdoch himself broke the delicate camera's fall – with his head and shoulder.

oOoOo

"William," Dr. Ogden whispered with relief as the detective moaned and tried to lift himself to his elbow. She pressed him gently back, fluffing the pillow under his head. "Not yet, you've been unconscious for an hour since Higgins and I brought you home," she continued gently stroking his hair.

As he opened his warm brown eyes, trying to assure her with a chuckle, he suggested, "You really should have the lamps turned up, Julia; a warm glow would be much more welcoming." He reached where he expected her hand to be without finding it, and concerned looks flashed across both their faces.

"They are lit, rather brightly, too," she countered, gently but firmly placing her hand in his. "Do you remember what happened?"

Closing his eyes again, he recited, "Henry and I were checking on some missing boys. He had gone to check with neighbors while their father and I looked for suggestions of their disappearance in the photography studio. I was checking a small pile of dust under the camera tripod, when the lightning surprised me … Oh, no … Did I damage the camera?"

"No, just yourself, Dear," she chuckled back at him. "Perhaps more than I'd thought at first. Open those eyes for me again. I need to check something." She leaned down gently peering into his eyes, stroking his cheek and giving him a kiss he took a moment too long to recognize was coming.

He retreated slightly, and asked worriedly, "Julia, why can't I see?"


	2. Chapter 2 - Can and Cannot

He combed his hair, but skipped shaving this morning. He dressed more slowly than usual. Gingerly, he moved trying not to reach too far ahead, but afraid to trip or even appear undignified. He knew where he was, his own hotel suite, but everything felt foreign. Finally, he found the sofa in the sitting room, though truly he'd been aiming for his arm chair, and impatiently flopped down.

He wanted to go to work at the station, but wasn't sure how he would get there; he could barely find his way around the suite. He wanted to compare notes with Higgins about the missing boys. He wanted to check and compare other reports of missing children. He had wanted to interview a con man he had arrested two days ago to find where the villain had pawned the jewelry entrusted to him by unsuspecting spinsters in the area. He wanted to …

"There you are. I'm surprised," Julia beamed, "though I probably shouldn't be. Dressed already? I've called the Inspector, and he agreed with your doctor that it might be best to let you have a few days to recover." She leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead. She lowered herself gently and reached to stroke his stubbly cheek, and he nearly wrenched away.

She continued, "What's wrong? You really are quite enterprising, and I am impressed."

"I'm frustrated."

"Reasonably, I think."

"I feel a careless and useless fool."

"William, whyever?"

"I am surrounded moment by moment by normal daily tasks which I have no way to complete."

"You will find ways to work around such limitations. You always do. You are the most adept man at finding new ways to do things. Don't you see, William?" She watched his fear and frustration flare into a stark anger she had never before seen from him and moved away, as he jumped up, turned his body toward where she had sat just a moment ago and roared, "No, I _most_ certainly do NOT _see_!"

From her new position at the further end of the sofa, Julia softly crooned, "Oh, William"

Appalled by himself, the color drained from his face, "Oh, Julia, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean … " He wanted to withdraw literally as much as figuratively with as much speed as possible. He tried to step backward but ended up tripping over the tea table and sprawled across the floor.

Leaning down over him, placing a hand behind his shoulder to help him up, Julia ventured a chuckle, "And I must also apologize for a very inconsiderate choice of words. Perhaps we should try working together to solve the problems we face? Shall I shave you? And then," kissing him soundly and letting her hands roam freely using the desire to check for new injuries as an added pretext, "my love, I think we both need to go walking together."

oOoOo

Having found a walking stick early on their outing, the detective tried different methods for using it to find obstacles in his path, while allowing Julia to lean on his elbow and surreptitiously direct him, first through the park but in the end toward the station.

"Whither go we, wife?" he asked having recovered some of his usual curiosity.

"We shall arrive in a moment or two, husband." Very soon she requested, "Now, if you would hold the door for me, please."

"Certainly, where are we?"

Various surprised but happy cries beginning with "Sir!" fell on his ears as he stepped through the door behind the doctor who had belatedly recognized the medicine he needed most. His smile told her he did not need her answer.

Greetings and questions were quickly cut short by the Inspector's bellow. "Wot in Hades are you doing here?! I thought I told you to stay home for a few days. Believe it or not, we can manage.

"Well, now that you're here, get you both in my office." Followed by a call, "Higgins, join us."

As the Murdochs seated themselves, the Inspector settled behind his desk again and ventured, "I'm sure you wanted to know about those Colbert boys, eh? Better tell 'em then, Henry." The detective and his wife also gave Higgins encouraging looks, though Murdoch still seemed out of focus, as if he were looking just past Higgins' shoulder.

"Sir, Ma'am, the two boys had been tidying their father's workrooms and been attracted to the windows by some pebbles thrown up against the building. A lad and lass from across the lane, the Branfields, enticed them out for a romp in the park that lies two streets over. They got caught in the storms and went home with the Branfields, being afraid to go to their own home in such a state and with chores undone.

"Of course, that's where I was when I heard the cries over at the Colberts' place. I hurried the boys home and called the Doctor to come for you. With nothing broken, she decided it best just to have you home, Sir. How are you feeling, Sir?"

Smiling, the detective replied, tilting his head to aim closer to Higgins' face, "Much better, Henry. Thank you for your quick action last night. You've set my mind much more at ease with your report, as well."

"Well, getting you home was easy, since I already had the police carriage out, Sir. Perhaps, not your original intention, but quite handy in the end."

Brackenreid broke in, "Now, back to the grind, Higgins." As the constable closed the door, the inspector went on, "Now how are you really, buggalugs? When might I expect you back to do some work?"

"Sir," began Julia defensively, but her husband spoke up for himself. "Well, I do have a desperate headache, sir, but," he turned his face hopefully toward the person holding his hand and then back in the inspector's general direction, "I'm beginning to differentiate some light and shadows within the last two hours. I do think the exercise my doctor suggested may be having some positive effect." Turning himself back toward the inspector or at least his desk, he continued, "I may be able to supervise some investigations or interrogations with assistance quite soon. However, paperwork will be out of the question for quite some time, I'm afraid. What say you, Doctor?"

"Well, increased blood flow with gentle exercise should help recovery somewhat. However, too much exertion could be detrimental to progress. Running, cycling, climbing and chasing are out of the question for the time being," she chuckled again. "We'll need to evaluate your sight fairly frequently. But honestly, William, I doubt your penmanship has suffered; your hands are fine! You should be fully capable to write reports if we find a way to indicate margins to keep your verbosity in check, though reading reports by others will have to wait."

Facing her as she spoke, various familiar looks passed over his face. "My verbosity ... ," he repeated disbelieving, and his final unspoken expression toward his wife shouted, "Traitor!" coaxing a short laugh from his superior. Murdoch turned his face back toward a spot over the desk that the inspector had just emptied to reach for a refill of whiskey, and asked if he could borrow two constables for some experiments in the morning and come in for desk duty in the afternoon.

"You know, movin' your head around that way, tryin' to face folk in conversation, well, it's a nice touch, but a bit disconcerting when you've got the wrong target. What types of experiment do you have in mind for the men tomorrow morning, anyway?"

"Actually, I'd like to attempt to identify some landmarks for myself using other senses to help me find my way around more easily. Until I'm able to do so independently, I shall need guides. And," he added somewhat sheepishly, "I also want to work on facing people more appropriately, as you suggested. With more practice I should be able to track your movement as well, Sir." His eyes ended up properly aligned with the inspector's though they still showed him nothing but faint shadows.

"Good enough. I'll send Crabtree and Dalton around for you around half past nine tomorrow, then, with the doctor's approval of course."


	3. Chapter 3 - Learning Curve

Julia opened her eyes, honestly expecting to see her husband still beside her rather than in the bathroom. She slid out of their bed and approached without realizing just what he was doing.

Hearing someone behind him, his eyes shot open and his razor slipped. "Ow! Julia, don't come up behind me like that! Give me some warning!" he snapped.

"William, what are you … No!" her question forestalled by misunderstanding, she neatly struck the razor from his extended hand and seizing the nearest towel, pressed it firmly to the cut on his chin.

"What are you doing?" their panicked voices each demanded of the other.

He reached out to brush the lock of hair that nearly every morning escaped across her forehead, but encountering her cheek instead, was surprised by her tears. He drew her close to assure her, "You didn't really think … Julia, there's nothing to be afraid of … It just takes me so long to do the most basic things, so I thought I'd rise early to … practice."

"Oh, William," she began, her sob turning to a low laugh, "Couldn't you begin with practicing something a little … safer?"

"I wanted to surprise you." His face held that slightly embarrassed, innocent look that had always drawn her. "I was almost finished, too. I thought I'd keep the moustache for while, provided you don't mind."

Drawing him back to their bed, she sat down next to him at its foot. Reaching for his face and gazing at him, she asked, "Now, let me see those eyes. No swelling, no bleeding, well that's going well. And tell me what you see this morning."

"Well, Doctor," his brow wrinkled slightly, "I noticed the increasing light as the sun rose this morning, and that a narrow shadow blocks some of the light from the window or the lamp when you pass by. I think I'm seeing some yellow with light but I'm not quite sure. That's really all, I'm afraid."

"It's fine for now. And your headache?"

"Somewhat relieved at the back, but still present behind my ears."

"Let's dress and take some breakfast before the constables arrive. Will you need any help?"

"Just lay my things on the chair by my corner of the bed, please."

oOoOo

"Good morning, Constables," the detective welcomed his men at the door. "Please come in for a few minutes and sit. Try not to move things much; I'm just getting the map worked out in my head and even an inch could make a painful difference for me."

"Really, Sir, it's good to see you up so quickly," Crabtree returned as the two men found seats, "but are you sure about this?"

"I haven't much choice, George. Help me to make the best of it." Murdoch began to sit, but realized almost too late that the quiet Dalton already occupied his favored chair. "Pardon me," he laughed and shifted to another.

"As you know, my vision is impaired, temporarily, I hope. I will need you to help me improve my recognition of where people are around me, whether they are approaching or receding or even stationary." Tilting his head vaguely toward Dalton, "I'd like to learn to avoid unintended contact, as much as possible; again, my apologies, Dalton."

"Sir, it reminds me of the blind Chinese man I encountered who was able to fight off four or five attackers at once ..."

"Slow down, George; that's a bit out of my range at this time," the detective recaptured the conversation and added with a wistful smile, "I hope to recover my sight before we get that far.

"However, I also need to find my way through the district as independently as possible, so that I do not drain constabulary resources more than necessary. George, as you know not all clues are visual. We have often noted odors or sounds that have assisted us in narrowing our fields of inquiry or even solved investigations. What I propose, with your assistance, gentlemen, is making a mental map of smells and sounds at various key intersections, first between here and the station house and the morgue, then the court house, city buildings and parks, perhaps even the train station and other areas of the city.

"So to begin, gentlemen, I'd like you to join me playing a restrained version of blind man's buff beginning here in my suite. Again, please try not to move the furniture to give me a fighting chance. My initial goal is to be able to identify your locations every 30 seconds or so, and then we'll proceed outdoors."

oOoOo

"Have you any new cases, Julia?" Murdoch asked as he slid his fork across his plate that evening, exploring his choices before spearing a bite.

"Just simple things really. Straightforward. I'm just sad about the small ones with the influenza. There have been a dozen this week," she sighed. He reached vainly for the hand he could not see, wishing he could comfort her.

She extended her hand to meet his, asking, "Have you noticed any more improvements in your vision?"

"Still just vague shadows, but I think I saw some more colors as we made our way home from the station tonight. All rather muddy and blended though. That is why I closed my eyes because it was too confusing and distracting while I was trying to rely more on other senses."

"And how did your experiments go this morning?" She tucked a bite into her mouth while he explained.

"I think I learned quite a bit today," he covered a yawn. "But the great discovery was what I noticed while typing some notes. When keys are struck vigorously, they leave a tactile imprint in the paper. I'd heard about Braille's code, but it doesn't seem worth translating so many reports for one man; yet it might be worth my time to learn to read the typewriter imprints. Could you type a few autopsy reports for me to practice with tomorrow?"

"Certainly. I told you, you'd begin to find new ways to do things," she boasted with a smile he could hear, before adding, "Speaking of which, I have a present for you."

"Really?" He unwrapped the small package, and as he began to explore it with his fingers, she gasped.

"Be careful; let's not repeat this morning's adventure!"

"What? Oh, is this one of those new safety razors from America? I still have to install a blade before I can shave with it. Are you sure I won't hurt myself? Perhaps I should just let my beard grow long," he teased. Another yawn escaped as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Rising, he invited her, "I am rather tired tonight. Come, dance with me, Julia, before I fall asleep."

She placed her hand in the one he offered and stepped close, as he began to hum softly. As his steps guiding her around the furnishings became more confident, she relaxed and cuddled closer to him, even closing her eyes for a moment. Gradually, they traversed the entire suite, before finally, ever so gently he backed her into their bed, falling next to her with a content sigh. Laughing she punched his arm softly, "You did that on purpose." "Why, yes, I did," he smiled.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Very Long Day, part 1

The insistent ring pulled him toward consciousness. He tried to turn off the alarm clock but the phone continued.

Quickly he answered it, listened a moment, repeated an address, then replied, "She'll be along presently." He had almost hung up before he realized the sergeant had said something else. "What was that? I suppose, but I can't imagine why … Fine, yes. Both of us."

He gently kissed his wife awake. "You are needed, Doctor."

"Tell me again why you're dressing to accompany me. You know I did this without your help for years."

"Honestly, Julia, I do know. I do not understand either, but Sergeant Hamilton made it quite clear we were both requested."

"Did you order a cab?"

"Well it seemed better than cycling in the dark." He grunted softly at his own bad pun. "Julia, what time is it, anyway? I have no way to tell," he admitted.

"Twenty before three."

oOoOo

The two continued to confer quietly in the cab.

"I have no idea what they expect me to do. How can I assess what I cannot see?"

"Perhaps they want you to coach the constables, William, and remind them what to look for. Remember: you are a skilled investigator. You always find the right questions to ask, eventually, and didn't you say something to George yesterday morning about non-visual clues?"

The cab slowed and stopped. "Don't forget your stick, Detective." She handed it to him as he paid the driver.

She held his elbow but he took the lead this time, his stick reaching ahead of him following the sounds toward the constables already at the scene. He slowed, and whispered, "Julia, I was just near here the other night."

"Yes, I'm glad you recognized it. But, remember, I was here, too, just later." She let go Murdoch's elbow to make her way forward.

Crabtree greeted the pair, "We think it's a Mrs. Branfield, Sir, Ma'am. Her husband said she'd gone out to borrow something, though he thought her more tired than usual, and then he had gone out searching for her around midnight when he woke and realized she'd not yet returned. He shouted out for a constable when he found her here."

"What else have you, George?" he inquired, as Dr. Ogden knelt in an alley off to their side to make her initial examination.

"Not much I'm afraid. Mr. Branfield said she'd gone along the lane in search of some sugar for a cake, after the children were in bed. Apparently she wanted to bake it tonight for the lass's birthday tomorrow, er today, I mean. We've spoken to nearly all the neighbors, except the Colberts who won't answer, Sir."

"I wonder what could have been so urgent that she didn't want to wait," he said thoughtfully. "Where's Henry?"

"Off tonight, Sir, a 'hot' date, something 'steamy', I gathered."

"Oh, really? Hmmm." Murdoch decided he didn't want to know, at least not for now.

"Well, we'd better see what Dr. Ogden has found," he said, by way of asking to be guided closer to her.

"Sir, if you don't mind, the inspector gave me the lead on this one. You're here primarily to check with the Colberts since Henry's off and they've already met you."

"Yes, of course, George. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..." He trailed off, remembering his own territorial feelings when he was younger.

"Not at all, Sir. It's only natural that you would like to hear the doctor's report before you head over to the Colberts'."

"I'd appreciate it George, but it's not really necessary."

"Come along, then," the young man's voice smiled and continued, "And then I'll have Janssen take you over to the Colberts'."

As the two men halted near the corpse, the detective automatically crossed himself, perceiving the usual odors of death, and his protege squatted down next to the doctor, asking quietly, "What have you, Doctor?"

"Well, frankly, I'm a bit puzzled, Constable, I haven't found any obvious injuries severe enough to cause death, just some scrapes that could have occurred as she collapsed. No obvious signs of poison, either. The state of rigor with tonight's mild temperatures would suggest she died some time between 9:45 and 11. Oh, and she appears to be wearing a wig. I shan't be able to give you much more until after the post mortem. I see the morgue carriage has arrived; shall I have the men take the body?"

"Yes, but let me know if anything catches your attention as you move her."

"Shall I go with them, or may I start on the post mortem later when I come in for the day?"

"I would like some kind of report, even preliminary, from you by noon, if at all possible, Doctor."

"Certainly, and thank you, George." She turned to the morgue attendants and called, "Gentlemen, if you please."

As they turned the body onto a stretcher, the shawl shifted as did the wig as well. They were replaced quickly, and the small party made their way to the morgue.

As they began moving, Constable Crabtree called out, "Janssen, please escort Detective Murdoch and the doctor to the Colberts' residence." Addressing the detective he said, "Just fill me in tomorrow, Sir."

Before Janssen hurried them away, the detective couldn't help remarking, "I didn't smell anything sweet. George, Julia, did you see any sign of the sugar?"

As they walked off, Murdoch heard his friend collecting the reports of several other constables, and releasing them to their regular duties. He sighed.

Janssen knocked firmly and was about to call out for the Colberts, when Murdoch spoke up calling in French, "Monsieur et Madame Colbert. It is I, Detective Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary. I am most sorry to disturb you at such an hour. But Madame Branfield has died in a strange way, and I must ask a few questions."

In English he murmured to the constable, "Thank you, Janssen, I think Doctor Ogden and I shall be fine, if you would like to return to Constable Crabtree."

As Janssen headed down the stairs, the door opened slowly. Michel Colbert continued the conversation in French, "Pardon. We could not understand the other men and were frightened. Come in."

Murdoch allowed, "It is not necessary. But I must know if Madame Branfield came to your door this night."

"A lady knocked and called, but I could not tell what she wanted and did not open for her," ventured Madame Colbert timidly.

"Were Monsieur or the boys not able to aid your understanding?"

"The boys were in bed. Monsieur was working in the developing room."

"Do you recall the hour of her knocking?"

"Not precisely, but it was late."

"Did the church clock strike before or after?"

"Before the woman arrived, it rang ten."

"Thank you, Madame et Monsieur. You have been a great help. We will go and let you rest."

The door closed as the Murdochs slowly made their way down the stairs and turned toward the corner.

"Well done, William."

"Is it too late to go home? If so, I should make notes at the station before I forget."

"No, there's plenty of time if you'd like a bath, a shave and some breakfast. I can write for you at the hotel."

"Would you? You could also add your thoughts on the conversation, if I forget anything. You never know what may help."

As they strolled home arm in arm, the sun began to chase the shadows from the sky.


	5. Chapter 5 - A Very Long Day, part 2

He hadn't expected to fall asleep. He'd done more and taken more responsibility so many times before. He looked up and noticed the brightness at the window. Wait! Was that rectangle the window frame? He still couldn't make out the spreaders that separated the panes, but … And that shadow in the corner, it seemed green – it must be the plant, what did Julia tell him it was called?

"Julia! Julia! I can identify the window and the plant! And the bedspread, did the maid change it for a red one? Was it not navy last week?

"Julia! Julia?" He rose and stumbled trying to find her. He could see the shadows more clearly and tell what some of them were, thus avoiding the larger lumps of the furniture, but he couldn't find her. Where had she gone?

He found the phone and called the hotel desk, "This is Murdoch on the third floor. What time is it please? Thank you. Please send up four pancakes and a bowl of fruit. Did Dr. Ogden leave a message for me? Very well."

He bathed and tried out his new razor, as quickly as he dared; still he left the moustache. He didn't think he'd nicked himself either, no bright red when he faced the mirror, anyway.

He dressed and combed his hair. He met the room service waiter, inquiring about the type of fruit since the pieces were small and rather indistinguishable, and wolfed down his breakfast. He crossed himself and belatedly thanked God for this next step in his recovery.

Surely, he still had a few minutes before his guides arrived from the station. Should he try to meet them along their way? Or call Julia at work?

The knock at the door made the decision for him. He opened it, nearly shouting, "Dalton! Jackson! Where's George? Oh probably trying to sort out the mess from this morning. Come in, come in! You won't believe it. I hardly do. I can see colors again! And some large shapes are discernable, as well."

"Congratulations, Sir! I haven't seen you this excited since the doctor agreed to marry you." Jackson thumped him in the shoulder playfully, catching the mood.

"I am indeed a blessed man," Murdoch agreed and continued. "Shall we set out? I really need to talk to Doctor Ogden and the inspector, as well." He grabbed his hat, but briefly considered leaving his stick, before remembering that curbs and uneven ground would still present problems. Quickly he locked up, and they left for the station, he at a quicker pace than that to which he had lately become accustomed.

oOoOo

He tried to focus as they made their way, recognizing that people had heads. Still no faces, but he began to believe, he would see them soon, as well.

The detective fairly burst into the morgue next to his station.

"What on earth?! Detective, is everything all right?" His beautiful, blond wife looked up at him, tools or something anyway still in hand in front of her pink work apron. (He thought, _How odd, she usually avoids that color, at least at work._ )

"Better than that! Colors and shapes are beginning to make sense again!" He began to point around the room, identifying well known doors and cabinets, but skipping over most of the apparatus which he still could not see as more than smudges.

Setting down the tools and removing her blood-stained apron, Julia moved next to him with purpose. Pointing at a nearby stool, "Sit down, William!" she ordered. Quickly washing her hands and picking up a borrowed ophthalmoscope, she said, "Now, let me see those eyes."

"Yes, this looks just fine." Setting down the tool gently, she asked more softly, "Now, tell me about your headache."

"Honestly, I didn't notice it at all this morning when I woke. But now, I feel it faintly just behind my ears again," he admitted.

"William, this is just what I warned you of. If you don't want a reversal, you must learn to take my advice seriously, at least in regard to health."

She held his head firmly in her strong hands. "I must finish a few things, including writing my report. My notes supporting your observations from last night are already finished. Go straight to your office at a reasonable pace, sit down and type your own notes for George and the inspector. Do NOT go out again until I see you, unless you're headed home. Is that clear, Sir?"

Chastened, but still wearing a slightly childish grin, he murmured, "Yes, Ma'am," having been thoroughly tamed. She rewarded him with a kiss, and the grin settled into a more reserved smile.

"Now, do you need me to call for Dalton or Jackson to escort you? You seem to have outrun them and they probably unwisely assumed you were fine on your own and returned to the station without you."

"Julia, it's less than half a block. I'll be fine."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she watched him go, hat on his head, stick in his hand.

oOoOo

He never realized how long half a block could seem. The delightful colors and shapes of people passing he'd seen half an hour before, suddenly struck him as ominous. Jostled by a couple of careless passers by despite his obvious use of his walking stick seeking obstacles, he realized just how right Julia was. Perhaps in his exuberance he was rushing his recovery too much.

Nearly sneaking through the bullpen, he caught a whiff of something as he passed Higgins at his desk, washing soda and perhaps starch, how odd. Finding his office more easily today as he could make out the door frame and door handle, he dropped into the chair at his own desk and let his pent up breath escape slowly. He also checked his pockets, just in case one of those who had jostled him turned out to be a pickpocket. But all his belongings seemed present and accounted for. As he caught his breath, someone filled his doorway.

"Are you well, Sir? Shall I call Doctor Ogden for you?" Crabtree's voice sounded worried.

"I'm fine," Murdoch smiled weakly and gently shook his head. "I just overdid a bit. How can I help you? Step in if you have a moment."

"Thank you, Sir. What have you from this morning?"

His smile grew more cheery, hearing his own words adapted and given back to him. "Well, first, I didn't hear, did you find any sign of the sugar the woman had gone to borrow?"

"No, not that I recall, but I'll check with the rest of the men, as well, and also try to find out if she received any sugar and from whom. Perhaps, Doctor Ogden found residue of some during her later investigations. Now about your interview with the Colberts?"

"Much as I expected, they were frightened, particularly Madame Colbert who speaks very little English. She remembered a woman knocking a little after ten as compared to the nearby church clock, but didn't open the door because she couldn't tell what was wanted and it was already quite late. Her husband was upstairs working to develop photographs and their children in bed, according to her. Monsieur Colbert was present at the interview but did not contradict anything she said.

"In fact, I was just about to type it up. I can have the notes on your desk shortly. I'm planning to spend a good part of today working out how to read typewritten messages by feeling the back of the paper."

"I thought Dalton and Jackson said your sight is returning? Were they exaggerating?"

The detective chuckled sadly, "A little, perhaps, but I fear I may have been overly excited by progress and given the wrong impression. I'm beginning to distinguish colors and shapes and even identify some objects from that, but I'm afraid people still look somewhat like moving columns."

"Ahh, well, still a far distance to go, but it is still progress. And, Sir, if you don't mind my saying, your moustache is shaping up nicely."

"Thank You. Oh, could you tell me if I managed to shave properly? I tried out my new safety razor this morning, and I'm not quite confident with it yet. You would let me know, wouldn't you, if I should consult a barber?"

"You're fine, Sir, just fine," George assured him as he ducked out of his friend's office.

oOoOo

Soon, tapping keys sounded from the detective's office as he kept his word and began his personal task for the day. After setting his report on Crabtree's desk, he made a second copy for his own research and then spent a considerable time typing up a variety of short and medium length messages, a few quotes and summaries from favorite writers, even a few nursery stories to see if he could work out a system for making sense of the raised marks on the backs of the pages. The consistent tapping did not halt until the inspector burst in.

"Sir, how can I help you?" Murdoch looked up, with better focus, keeping his eyes trained on Brackenreid as he paced.

"Wot are y' trying to do to me, old man? I just had a _delightful_ encounter with the good doctor who raised quite a dust up, and was convinced that I somehow needed to order you to behave yourself like a restrained gentleman and not a wild street urchin. Have y' gone daft, old beggar? Or has she?"

"No, Sir, I'm afraid I overreacted to an improvement in my condition and admittedly acted somewhat more energetically than was prudent. She advised me to settle down before I hurt myself, and I thought I had."

"Well then, glad we had this little chat." He picked up a few sheets at the top of Murdoch's pile, wrinkling his nose as he read the unimpressive text. "What's this that you're up to now? You're not practicing on the city's time to take on Callahan in the next typing contest*, are you?"

"No, not at all, just working on a system to help me get back to a fuller scope of my duties more quickly. You see, I noticed the other day …" He quickly outlined his theory and his plans.

"Sounds worthwhile for now, but don't get too carried away with it. Be ready to help Crabtree with his puzzle from this morning."

"Certainly, Sir, but when we last spoke, he seemed to have it well in hand." Without realizing it, his face lost focus again and his eyelids flickered, just for a moment, but the inspector caught it.

"That's it, Murdoch, grab your hat and stick, and gather up your collection of fairy tales and what nots here. You look fair spent. Take your project home to work on."

"But, Sir, it can't be time yet. Only around three if I'm reading the shadows on the wall correctly."

"How did you …" he started to ask, "but it doesn't matter; the doc will string me up if you overdo again today."

As the inspector strode back to his office he called out, "Jackson, get the detective and his papers back home. On the double, man!"

oOoOo

Julia returned home a little past their usual dinner hour because of her lecture at the university only to find her husband's head and left hand resting on the table amid his piles of typed examples. She wondered if he'd remembered to eat; she saw no plate nearby.

She guided the exhausted man to bed and tucked him in. But before she could leave she heard him whisper, "Good night, Julia."

o

 _* In one of M. Jennings' books, Constable Callahan takes part in a citywide typing contest against Murdoch's friend Enid Jones. Contests in professional skills were a form of entertainment around the turn of the century and sometimes were sponsored events with prizes awarded for winners._


	6. Chapter 6 - Making Sense?

"Your hair is beautiful, this morning, Julia. At least I think it's hair. Why, yes, mmm," he smiled, nuzzling into her mane with kisses before seating himself across from her at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she returned, and poured him a cup of strong tea into which he stirred a spoon of sugar. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Ravenous," he stated with a bite of toast already in his mouth. "Otherwise, more even-keeled for certain. The headache by my ears has dulled again, barely noticeable, in fact. Close objects are a good deal clearer; you even have a nose this morning, though the shape is still disturbingly indistinct, and your eyes only shadows," he squinted slightly, as he studied her, before continuing. "Objects across the room are a little less fuzzy around the edges than yesterday. I can't quite make out if that's a vase or the whiskey decanter on the mantle without considering other factors, such as refractive surfaces and colors. I haven't yet made any attempts at identifying anything more distant."

"Did you make any progress with your reading by touch, yesterday, before you fell asleep?"

"It's harder than I imagined. It seems the force required to make clear imprints was harder to maintain than I expected, so a significant amount of filling in blanks mentally is required. And the level of attention for interpreting the impressions is still quite exhausting, especially since the impressions present themselves backward from normal reading and writing. Interestingly, using my left hand, did seem to make it slightly easier.

"By the way, where did you set my papers?" He took the opportunity to sip his tea and eat another bite or two.

"They are in a folder on the hall table near the door. I added typed copies of three of the least complex autopsies I could find. That is what you had in mind, right?"

"Just right." He still sometimes wondered at how well matched they were, and silently thanked God, yet again, for his wife. Both focused on finishing breakfast.

Before long his curiosity about her day overcame him and he ventured, "I thought you were going to stop by my office yesterday. What happened?"

"Well, I'm afraid I got distracted. A couple more infection related deaths came in before I'd finished that autopsy for George's case, and I dealt with them as well before reporting to George and Inspector Brackenreid. I did look in through the glass and noticed you appeared a bit fatigued, as if you had forgotten lunch again, but you were concentrating, so I doubt you noticed. After giving my report, I got a bit testy with the inspector, I'm afraid. I hoped it didn't cause trouble."

"Not at all. But George never got to tell me what you discovered about the Branfield woman. Anything interesting?"

"I doubt you noticed at the scene, but as we loading her body into the wagon, her shawl shifted and we discovered she was wearing a wig. She was such a slight woman, almost emaciated, though George had mentioned how sturdy her husband seemed. I know such things happen, William, but something did not seem right. She had a couple of rashes that turned out to be yeast, but nothing that out of ordinary or deadly."

"Do you mind giving me a look? Or has the mortician claimed her already?"

"Not yet. I suppose it would not hurt anything for you to come by."

"Let's be on our way, then, Doctor."

oOoOo

As they walked, conversation turned to plans for the evening. She asked, "Do you think you will be ready to attend the theater this evening, or shall I give away the tickets?"

Waving his stick less vigorously along this familiar route, he considered, before replying, "If I return home a little early to rest and dress, it might be a pleasant break in routine. I'll try not to wear myself out so thoroughly today. What is the play?"

" _Peter Pan_. I think you might like it; apparently they use a harness to allow an actor to 'fly'. And they portray a fairy using a bright light directed at the stage."

"Perhaps something light would be refreshing." His face darkened a bit before confiding, "But you will stay close as we walk tonight? I'm a little concerned how well I shall navigate amid the evening and night shadows. It is hard when they all blend."

"Don't worry, Detective. I shall stay quite close. Now here is the station; give me a few minutes to prepare before you come over to the morgue."

He made his way to his office and set his folder on the desk. He had not recognized George on his way in, so he decided to check in with the inspector and look some more as he moved slowly between the desks.

"Ah, Murdoch, join us for a moment. Leave the door open, and take a seat if you'd like," the inspector invited.

The detective remained standing. "Good morning, Inspector, George. I was looking for you, George; Julia mentioned she was still puzzled by something on the Branfield case, so I thought I might go over there for a few minutes, but I wanted to check with you first." And he added somewhat sheepishly, "Would you like to come along? I'd appreciate the, erm, company."

"Actually, that is what we were discussing. I'm a bit perplexed myself and was wondering if I could borrow the chalkboard in your office today, Sir, to organize my thoughts," George admitted.

"Shall we trade desks as well then? I really don't mind," Murdoch offered.

"I would rather have you there to confer with, if it's not too great an imposition, Sir."

"Right, then. Shall we begin before or after we check in with Dr. Ogden?"

Before Crabtree could answer, Brackenreid noted, "Sounds like you are back in the harness, Detective. Before you get too far, will you need any extra support today?"

"Actually, Sir, I came in to ask if I could leave a bit early if not called out, of course, as Julia has set her heart on an evening at the theater; _Peter Pan_ , I think she called it."

"Ah, good show. Margaret and I took John along a few nights ago. He loved it! Finally something the boy and I agree on without having to compromise. I suppose you can take the time. Would you want to borrow my opera glasses? They might help some with following the action. Some of the costumes are awfully similar, and you would not want to be confused. I'll just leave them on the work table in your office then."

"That is very generous, Sir. They might be quite helpful, indeed." Having received approval of his request, Murdoch decided to make a hasty retreat while he could. However, he was in such a hurry, he kicked over Higgins' trash can as he passed. He couldn't help noticing a smell of bleach and starch as he bent down to right it; the bleach seemed to prick at his eyes a bit. Remembering a conversation with George the other night, something clicked and a mischievous and knowing smile flashed across his face.

He didn't even sit down at his work table before George asked, "Didn't you mention a visit to the morgue, Sir?"

"You are right. Are you coming, George?"

"I was hoping," the younger man smiled.

oOoOo

"Constable, Detective, I was not expecting both of you! But I am glad you both came. She's right over here."

"Do you mind if I lean in close, Doctor?" Murdoch asked. "I might be able to see something right next to my face."

"It should be fine." Almost before she'd replied, Murdoch's nose was almost touching the feet of the corpse. He made his way around it, intensely alert for any clue. As he neared the opposite end, his nose wrinkled.

"Doctor, do you smell something like a cleaner or a solvent? It's very faint. It's not something you use regularly around here; at least I have not noticed it before." He stood back a step or two, and Julia took his position, sniffing lightly.

"Yes, it reminds me of something … that my sister Ruby uses to remove colored polish from her fingernails." Now the Doctor's mind was rapidly sorting information from medical journals as she stood. "I think I'd better do a couple tests on the blood I drew from her yesterday. It should only be a few minutes; do you wish to wait, gentlemen?"

George, who had been once more looking over the clothes of the deceased, spoke up. "If it's quick, we might as well wait, especially if it gives us information to work with." The Detective stepped over next to George, trying to wait patiently. Something about the clothing caught his attention, and again, he bent down to try to get a closer look.

The first test was a pH test which almost immediately revealed that Mrs. Branfield's blood was more acidic than usual. The other test revealed a lower blood sugar level than would be considered normal, in fact dangerously low.* Something began to click for the doctor. "Oh, the poor woman. I need to check her pancreas to be sure, gentlemen, but I think Mrs. Branfield may have suffered from diabetes, in which case, there may be no foul play involved at all. George, did anyone ask Mr. Branfield any questions about his wife's general health?"

"I'll have to check, but all I distinctly remember in that regard was that he said he felt guilty for allowing her to step out when he could see how tired she appeared already. He wanted her to come to bed, but she insisted she wanted to borrow sugar to bake the cake first."

"That seems to fit. Constable, if you find any other references to her health or appearance, please let me know so that I can add them to my report. I'll check her pancreas, but I think we may be finished. Thank you, gentlemen. Is there anything else?"

Murdoch gave her the news about her plans, "The inspector gave his approval for me to leave a bit early tonight, as long as there are no work related interruptions for either of us. He even offered me his opera glasses in case they would help."

Julia muttered a distracted, "Good, good," already donning her apron and preparing her tools.

oOoOo

The men made their way out into the sunlit street. "I don't like to question the doctor's judgment too much, but is diabetes not a disease of the wealthy? The Branfields are not poor, but certainly not rich either."

"Well, diabetes may look that way, George, because there are so many cases that seem to result from overindulgences, alcohol or sweets, mostly. But several weeks ago I read that a small percentage of cases are mysterious in that they seem to be triggered by some other illness. I've heard from Julia recently that some doctors at the University of Toronto are trying to raise funds for some investigations and experiments related to finding treatments, but it may take years to raise the funds and even longer to find anything helpful.**"

"Looks like I won't be needing your chalkboard, after all, unless Doctor Ogden's last test doesn't fit the rest of what we just found."

"George, did anything strike you as odd about her clothes?"

"Whose? The doctor's? No, I believe her dress is quite becoming."

"No, Mrs. Branfield's." Something was bothering him, out of place perhaps, but Murdoch couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Would you mind using the chalkboard to establish the sequence of events, which neighbors she visited and which she did not? Something does not seem quite right."

"I suppose it will be good practice, if nothing else."

o

 _* This paragraph may sound convincing, but the blood tests and deductions made from them are simply my conjectures, not substantiated by research._

 _** This paragraph actually has some research behind it. It had already by that time been noticed that sometimes diseases did trigger diabetes. Also it was a group of researchers at University of Toronto who discovered insulin and worked out systems of treatment for which the two leaders of the group Banting and Macleod received the Nobel Prize in Medicine for 1923. (_ .ca/en/article/the-discovery-of-insulin/ _)_


	7. Chapter 7 - Hints from Lost Boys

Early the next day, the chalkboard already showed a tidy diagram of the lane where the Branfield woman was found. Marks showed the 5 places where she had stopped to ask for sugar with numbers indicating the order. A chart below listed the names of the neighbors, the approximate times and the amount collected which appeared to be nil.

Murdoch was still trying to focus on his project to read with his hand though, truth be told, he would be able to read them regularly if he held them a few inches closer. Crabtree was flipping through the other constables' reports on the interviews with neighbors. "It's no good, Sir. I just can't get these times to make sense. The visits should have been quite short as no one had sugar to spare. Are you sure Madame Colbert said the woman knocked _after_ 10 pm?"

Murdoch still faced away, but his focus shifted from the papers as he recalled the gray shadows as he stood in a doorway. "I believe she said that she heard a clock chime 10 before she heard knocking." As he returned to the present, he added, "Did Julia leave you any notes about the conversation? I don't remember her carrying a notebook that evening, and I'm afraid I wasn't using one either. Perhaps I was too hasty sending Janssen back to his beat." He shook his head with a grimace.

"Quite understandable, considering the circumstances, Sir. It's just that the lane is not that long, and I have trouble believing that it took that much time to make those few visits, especially since she was still planning to go home to bake. My Aunt Impatiens often likes to bake at night; she said it keeps the house from freezing on winter nights or from boiling during summer days."

"George, you really shouldn't call me 'Sir' when I am acting as your assistant. It should be 'William'. Have you considered another visit to the neighborhood? I really could use a good walk. Would you mind if I came along?"

They grabbed hats and coats and headed for the station door. Murdoch took a deep breath of fresh air; he noted that being indoors so much more than usual seemed to be taking a toll on his mental state, making him a bit sluggish. At least he was distinguishing buildings, large objects and posts visually by now, barely using the stick for curbs and disturbances in the sidewalk.

As they made their way, George finally couldn't help asking, "How did you learn French, S-, William? Did you study it in school?"

"No, George, it was purely for self-defense. When I was lumberjacking north of Montreal, I thought it worthwhile to avoid misunderstandings with men twice my size armed with sharp tools. I also managed to learn a fair bit about wrestling and the more practical applications of trigonometry and physics. If I'm not mistaken, we're just about there. Do you think we should revisit everyone or just one or two people? Whom do you wish to approach first?"

"Well, perhaps Mr. Branfield could tell us whether he was aware of his wife's condition and if they took any special precautions. And the Colberts since their story presents the greatest challenge. If those visits resolve our questions, we can head back; otherwise we stick around and speak to the rest of the neighbors."

"A sound plan, George. I will follow your lead."

First they tried the ground floor of Branfield's chemist's shop. A bell jangled pleasantly as they entered. Murdoch followed as Crabtree confidently approached Mr. Branfield behind his counter.

"It's good to see you again, Detectives! I hope you bring good news?"

"Actually, Mr. Branfield, we found that your wife's death may be related to a medical condition. Were you aware she had diabetes?"

"Why, certainly, but she was usually very careful about what she ate and how often, took some pains to take fresh air and exercise, and tried to get plenty of rest. Fiddly thing though, scared me plenty a couple times to find her near a faint, but it was not anything so far that a peppermint button or stick of barley sugar would not set right.

"She kept a nickel worth bag of sweets in the kitchen for just such events. Our children knew that it was hers specially for medicine when she was feeling poorly and that they were not to touch it except to bring it to her." His hand ruffled his hair sadly, "It's still there; I'm afraid I haven't had the heart to go through her things yet. Would you like to see it?"

"I don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Branfield. Thank you, that does help our understanding.

"Oh, here," George stretched out his hand to reveal a small pony he'd carved, "This is for your lass; I hope you all found some joy in her birthday."

"Thank you, Detective. Why yes, we did. It most surprised me when that French lady across the street brought a cake over after her boys mentioned Jeannie's birthday to her. She's a right shy one, never hardly stirs from home without her husband. If you do happen to see her, will you give her my thanks once again?"

When they emerged, Murdoch congratulated his protege, "Well done, George. That gift was well thought of. Consoling broken hearts isn't strictly part of the job, but you never know how such things may help someone."

"Well, Sir, you know I didn't know my own mother, until the last few years, and I missed her terribly at certain times, so … I ..."

"I understand," the older man laid a hand gently on his shoulder as they crossed the lane. "No need to explain."

"Right, S- … William," he grinned back as they climbed the steps. "You don't mind translating again, do you?"

"Honestly, I'm still not quite fully functional, so I thought that was the main reason you brought me … Sir," he said with a smile of his own.

They sat around the table with Madame and Monsieur Colbert. Murdoch had already given them Mr. Branfield's thanks for the cake and asked them to repeat the story and the time of the last contact with Mrs. Branfield. The officers had discovered nothing new.

Then rising, Murdoch looked toward the door and recalled something from a previous visit. His mind flashed to the coat pegs next to the door the night he was seeking lost boys; something was missing today – the shawl. His memory then returned to the pile of clothes in the morgue, and realized the shawl was what had bothered him.

"A moment, George." He turned back toward Madame Colbert. "Madame, where is your beautiful shawl? I saw it a few nights ago when we sought the boys."

"I am sorry? What?" she seemed startled.

"Are you sure you did not open the door to Madame Branfield? I am sure I saw a shawl just like yours among her belongings yesterday."

Madame Colbert opened her mouth somewhat shocked. Now she was afraid. "How could that be?"

"Indeed, how?" his smile had disappeared, replaced by worry, for he had come to like the Colberts.

"It is all right, Annette. You must tell the truth," her husband assured her, taking her hand. "I think we can trust him."

"No one will believe me. Why should I say it?"

"Please Madame Colbert, we only wish to understand what happened."

"Madame Branfield did come here; she asked for the sugar, she said she wished to bake a cake. She was tired and chilled, so I gave her tea while I measured sugar into a small box. That is what took so long. She thanked me, but she looked so cold that I insisted she take my shawl. She was so tired that I accompanied her down the stairs because I was afraid she would stumble and did not realize she had forgotten the sugar until I returned. I decided to take it to her in the morning since she seemed too ill to bake that night. I do not know what happened to her after she left here, I swear it. Surely, she could make it across the street."

"Did she put any sugar into her tea?"

"She could not; I held the container as I measured the amount I intended for her to take."

He turned to the constable and asked, "George, what do you think?"

"Well, William, I think we need to see that bag Mr. Branfield offered to show us."

They strolled back across the lane and asked Mr. Branfield about the sack of sweets. He closed the shop and led them up the stairs. Knowing just what he was looking for he reached to the back of a small half shelf of spices and pulled out a small cloth sack with a drawstring. But a distressed look crossed his face even before he extended it toward the detectives, "It's empty. But we've never let it go empty since we knew …" Deflated, he lowered himself heavily into the closest chair.

"Will the children be home from school soon, Mr. Branfield? Perhaps they may be able to tell us what happened," George suggested.

"Oh, yes, I suppose." The empty bag dangled from his hand as the words escaped his forlorn mind and heart.

oOoOo

Upon returning to the station the two made their way through the bullpen. Passing Higgins at his desk, Murdoch recognized the young man's fatigue as well as the smell of time spent doing laundry, perhaps even moonlighting, and could no longer resist the urge to tease him. "Another hot date? Henry you certainly seem to be 'cleaning up' in your social endeavors the past few nights." Murdoch chuckled, but Higgins groaned, glad that his superior only referred to his situation obliquely enough that the other constables were likely to miss it. He added quietly, "Seriously, Henry, you might want to cut back those hours before the Inspector discovers what you've been up to."

oOoOo

Julia walked home holding her husband's elbow in the fading light. Though not completely clear, his vision had improved still more, and they appeared to be just another couple taking an evening stroll.

"So she had given the sweets to the children while they were drying near the stove on the night of the storm?"

"Yes, just before Higgins arrived there looking for the Colberts, but she hadn't made the time to replace them as yet. I can't help thinking, if only she'd asked Madame Colbert for a spoon of sugar in her tea as well … " his words drifted away as he thought of how fragile life could be.

o

 _Thank you for reading and for encouraging me along this path. H'ope you're not too disappointed in the ending. I have some other stories in the works, but there are some tricky spots I'm trying to straighten out in my mind. The new school year has started and so it will certainly take longer to finish and post the sections. But there may be a couple of shorts in the near future._

 _For anyone interested in another fandom: reviewer NancyMay's reference to Dr. Harvey in Ballarat is from the "Doctor Blake Mysteries" an Australian television program which I highly recommend. Alice Harvey, a coroner/hospital pathologist albeit in 1960, really does say that in an episode._


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